


You Seem Very Beautiful To Me

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, M/M, Texting, find Jean Kirschtein the love of his life cause, that story with the loaf joke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 05:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6316594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unhappy and uninspired, Jean Kirschtein's, the 25-five-year-old artist, life certainly is not going to plan. By now, he was supposed to be successful, living in a large apartment by himself (or, desirably, with a pretty girlfriend) in New York. Instead he was stuck in a small, shitty, unheated apartment in Jersey City with his two extremely sexually active roommates who were so loud that they had actually gotten noise complaints in the past.</p><p>Enter Marco Bodt, a happy-go-lucky, freckled, clumsy, 26-year-old angel with beautiful eyes and a personality to die for. For some reason, Jean can't get him out of his head. Why? It's kind of unexplainable, really; he was just the asshole who made him spill his coffee. If by "asshole" Jean meant "literal fucking angel" then yes, that was correct.</p><p>***</p><p>Title taken from Blur's "Good Song".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

By now, I was supposed to be successful. I wasn't supposed to still be living in my crappy apartment in New Jersey with my sexually active roommate and his tall, lanky, sweaty boyfriend. No, by now I was supposed to be somewhere else; somewhere inspiring. Instead, I was in my dark living room, lying dejectedly on a shitty second-hand couch covered with mysterious stains that certainly were not there when Reiner and I bought it two years ago. He and his boyfriend have sex _everywhere_. In pretty much every room, there is at least one “mysterious” stain on at least one piece of furniture or carpet. Even on my discoloured carpet sits a stain, which definitely was not there last week, before I went to grab a coffee. At least four times a week, my poor ears are abused with Bertholdt's raucous moans and Reiner's loud cries of, _“I'm coming!”_ It's difficult to face them the next day when they're curled up on the sofa watching endless episodes of reality television shows on TLC. I should really get back into dating again or something; my practically non-existent sex life may be one of the roots of my unhappiness.

 

I lay on my uncomfortable couch in my ugly living room, wrapped in a mass of blankets, in the dark and alone. My noisy roommates are out on a “date night”, luckily - although I won't be very lucky later. Going out _would_ be an option, if only Connie hadn't gone out with his “totally-not-kind-of-girlfriend” Sasha. Connie was loud, short (not asshole Jaeger's maniac boyfriend short, but still short nonetheless) and sported a grey buzz-cut. His “totally-not-kind-of-girlfriend” Sasha was taller than him by a few inches and could normally be spotted near anywhere with food. Often when Sasha and Connie came round, Reiner, Bertholdt and I found ourselves running out of food quickly. Anything edible was delicious to Sasha. _Anything_. Once, I witnessed her eat potatoes straight from their bag. They weren't even cooked or anything. It was a miracle how she wasn't even the slightest bit overweight from the amount of food she eats. It also fascinated me how she hadn't died from her insane food adventures yet, really.

 

I started to feel hot in my blanket burrito, but I honestly couldn't be asked to get up. Even if I did die from overheating or some shit, it wouldn't be like I had anything to live for. My art career had failed, much to my parents delight, I was uninspired and unhappy. What had I to lose? However, instead of letting myself die (or just inevitably throw up due to overheating), I decided that doing something reasonably productive would be better. I peeled myself from my cocoon of blankets, throwing them on the floor beside the couch. Reiner and Bertholdt could use them later or something. Suddenly, the cold of the unheated apartment hit me, making me wish that I had just stayed put inside a wrap of various blankets from around the house.

 

I hurriedly pulled on the closet thing to me. My threadbare hoodie wasn't really enough for the freezing air of the nippy, February evening, but I was too lazy to walk ten meters to the bedroom to grab something more appropriate. Quickly grabbing my house keys, I made my way down the seemingly endless flight of stairs. Thanks to some asshole, the elevator no longer worked, making my life more difficult than it already was. My idea of “fun” certainly is not walking down six flights of stairs every time I wanted a decent coffee (Reiner and Bertholdt had broken our coffee maker a couple of months or so prior; none of us could just be bothered to replace it).

 

The night was colder than it was usually. Within two minutes of walking my fingers began to go blue and numb, making my journey more painful than it had to be. I didn't really enjoy exercise, even if it were just a simple walk down to a coffee shop like it was now, and the cold just made it even more unbearable as it bit harshly at my skin.

 

Somehow, I ended up at the coffee shop alive. It was a miracle. Luckily, there was barely a soul in there, other than a young girl doing some studying and a barista with short, light brown hair who looked like she would rather be sleeping than anything else. It was nice; quiet. All I wanted was to have a nice cup of coffee in a warm atmosphere with wifi. Of course, my apartment had wifi (how would I survive without it?), just not the warmth I both desired and needed. “How may I help?” The unoccupied barista asked as I approached, not bothering to put on an exaggerated smile as I placed my order.

“Just a coffee. Black, please.”

 

She slowly left the counter to make the drink. It surprised me how, on a Thursday night, she was the only employee working. Surely somebody else must be working? Maybe they needed more employees. I made a mental note to ask, given my current job status. I was soon handed my drink, as I placed a few dollars on the counter before placing another in the tip jar. Picking up my coffee, I turned around, only to smash into another person. The cup spilt all over my already ruined hoodie, the blistering liquid burning my skin as the cup fell to the floor and smashed into tiny pieces. “Oh my God!” He gasped, “I'm so sorry. Oh my God.” He started to manically wipe my wet shirt with his scarf, attempting to dry it off at least a little bit.

 

“For fucks sake,” I muttered, pushing his glove clad hands away. All I wanted was a _fucking coffee_. Was that really too much to ask? I looked up to glare at the man, only to be met with kind, wide, light brown eyes and a freckled face. He looked apologetic, offering a slightly crooked smile. He was tall, but only an inch or so taller than me, and had slightly messy black hair parted in the middle.

 

“Goddamn it, Marco,” the girl from behind the counter piped, “first of all you're late, and you've already terrorised a customer!”

 

“Marco” looked sheepish. “Sorry, Hitch. The traffic wasn't exactly ideal tonight.”

“It's okay. Just don't be late again. Hey, haircut dude, do you want another coffee or...?” Now, the barista's speech was directed at me, so I mumbled a just audible “sure” in reply. The freckled boy walked around me and to the counter, flashing me a small, friendly smile as he did so. “Let me pay for his coffee.” Marco offered, getting his wallet out.

 

“No it's fine, I can get it.” I replied, walking up and grabbing my own wallet. I didn't need this asshole's pity just because he spilled a fucking coffee on me. I could pay for myself, thank you very much.

 

Marco smiled softly again. What the fuck was up with all his smiling? “No, it's okay. I crashed into you - it's my fault.”

 

“Stop being so _kind_. I can pay for myself.” I insisted, my amber eyes meeting his in a harsh glare. He was still fucking smiling. Honestly, what was his goddamn problem?

 

“Okay then.”

 

I smirked, feeling somewhat happy knowing that I had won. It wasn't something to be proud of winning, really, turning down a free coffee. But I still won. Placing my money on the counter, I dropped another dollar into the tip box, one, because both baristas were actually kind of hot, and two, I would probably feel bad if I didn't.

 

Freckles slid beneath the counter and took off his coat, hanging it on the peg at the back of his working area before quickly disappearing into another room. Swiftly, Hitch placed a new coffee on the counter, and I tried to flash a smile in return. Key word: _tried_. It probably looked more like one of those faces Chandler had unfortunately pulled in _Friends_ for the engagement photos.

 

As I sat down at a table near the back, I found myself looking back over at the counter several times. In fact, I found myself glancing in that direction most of the time. The spillage on the floor had been cleared up, presumably by Hitch who was currently sliding beneath the counter. Was that their only way of getting in and out from behind the counter? Marco was back now, a black apron tied around his waist, leaning against the counter. His smile never once left his face. I was slightly concerned that he wasn't human – what human could stay happy and smiley like that for five minutes straight? Definitely not me, that's assert.

 

When the time regrettably came for me to reluctantly leave the warmth of the coffee shop, my eyes met Marco's. “Sorry, again.” His smooth voice called as I passed him. “Come back soon!” He said. Well, I certainly wanted to come back soon. But totally not for those warm, brown eyes nor his cheeks dusted with freckles.

 

Certainly not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean walks in on Reiner and Bertholdt and is then subjected to a night of raucous moaning and sexual grunts. Also, he goes back to the coffee shop, but totally not to see those glossy chestnut eyes he had seen one night prior and discovers that Marco, the tall, freckled man behind the counter, is actually attractive. No homo.

As soon as I walked through my front door, I was blessed with various cries and moans from my two roommates who had unfortunately returned from their evening out. They weren't even in their fucking bedroom. They were just right there, right in front of the couch, doing it on the mass of blankets I had dumped there a few hours previously. To them, a messy pile of a few blankets and duvets left there by their poor, unfortunate roommate screams, _“Come on! Have a good time! Though I'll probably come back during it, don't mind me, I'll just become more scarred than I already am due to your frequent sexual activities. Happy fuckings!”._ It just does do everyone, doesn't it? Although my poor eyes had seen this numerous times before on different occasions, I was still horribly shocked, suddenly dropping my keys to the floor, absolutely horrified. They didn't even hear me when I shouted, “Oh my fuck!” Not even Bertholdt did, and that guy has some sort of crazy-ass bat hearing. That's how loud they were being. This wasn't even the loudest they could go. On some nights, I swear, half the neighbourhood can hear them. If I remember correctly, once we even got a police officer knocking on our door at about one am in the morning telling us about a noise complaint from one of our many unfortunate neighbours. I apologised profusely on behalf of my noisy friends, as they were currently “busy”.

 

I sprinted to my bedroom. It was rather surprising how I wasn't horrifically out of breath when I got there, considering how little exercise I had done since leaving high school. Reiner, on the other hand, was a fucking gym nut. In college, he normally went to the gym about six nights a week. I think that's where he met Bertholdt, actually. However, after meeting him, he stopped going almost every night and went only four times a week instead, as his other nights were already occupied with another form of exercise. The walls were much thinner in college, too. It was so much worse.

 

Locking my bedroom door, I hurriedly looked around for a pair of earphones in my dimly lit room, but couldn't find any. That is one of the reasons why I should clean my fucking room. Luckily, I had another fantastic solution. Sleeping. Maybe I could fall asleep and then I wouldn't be able to hear them! I almost celebrated right there and then, for my idea was certainly the greatest.

 

Then I realised that my duvet was out there. Beneath them. Being used for something I never wanted it to be used for. By them, at least.

 

Suddenly, a loud cry of, “Fuck me!” erupted from the living room, startling me slightly as I fell off the bed. My ass harshly met the carpeted floor with a loud thump. Then, all was quiet.

 

There were no coital moans, no erotic cries, nor were there any sexual grunts. Maybe they'd actually heard me fall to the ground and decided to put their roommate's needs and desires before theirs for once.

 

How wrong I was. As it turns out, Reiner was just going to fetch some lube from the kitchen drawer (they keep it almost everywhere). Once again, the small apartment was soon filled with howls and cries coming from the living room. I groaned as I pulled one of my pillows over my head, trying to block the sound from my hapless ears. It didn't really work as well as I hoped, muffling the sound out only slightly.

 

I don't know when, but I somehow managed to fall asleep with my head buried between some pillows, in a fetal position trying to conserve heat.

 

***

 

I woke up in the morning to the oh-so-sweet sound of drivers angrily beeping their horns at one another, irritating car engines and the annoyingly loud rings of bicycle bells. Seriously, who in their right mind would cycle to work? Reiner, probably. But I knew he was still in the apartment, curled up with Bertholdt somewhere; he didn't work Wednesdays, and neither did his boyfriend.

 

Because I was up relatively early (10 am _is_ early, fuck you), I decided to get out the apartment and go get a drink or something at that coffee house. Not because I wanted to see if that annoyingly chirpy freckled barista was working again; he was just so irksome. I wanted to get out before I ran into my roommates, so I didn't have to go through the awkwardness of seeing them after their noisy activity last night. Probably.

 

As I got up, only then did I realise that I had slept in my skinny jeans. I shrugged, before trying to prise them off. Only true douches wear ludicrously tight jeans. It was difficult, I must say, but isn't it always difficult to force your jeans off?

 

Finally, I managed to get them off, before quickly snatching a new pair from my drawer along with a faded My Chemical Romance shirt. I'd had since I started liking them when I was seventeen, and now, at twenty-five, it was slightly tighter, much more faded and far more comfortable. I swiped another worn-out hoodie from my messy bedroom floor, rapidly walked out the apartment as I grabbed my keys and began to briskly walk to the coffee shop. It took a shorter amount of time than it did last night, partially due the reason that this time I wasn't absolutely freezing my dick off. Of course, it was still cold as fuck, but obviously it wasn't nearly as chilly as it was when I last went outside, when my fingers grew numb within a matter of minutes.

 

Each exhale turned into a misty cloud in front of me, my amber eyes darting around the street as I looked at everyone surrounding me. There were mothers with their young children; there were fully grown men around the age of forty pushing down the street, clutching a heavy briefcase that was probably filled with important documents. There were also men around my age, attempting to flirt with the first pretty girl they saw. They each got turned down within ten seconds. My eyes suddenly landed on the homely shop I had entered hours before, where I met the irritatingly happy barista with the sparkling light brown eyes and cheeks adorably tinted pink and dusted with freckles. Dear Lord, I never wanted to see that annoyingly beautiful grin again.

 

Sadly, that couldn't be. Marco was at the counter, shooting a smile that looked surprisingly genuine at the customers he was serving. I walked in and his eyes flicked towards me for a moment, as he continued to smile and carry on his conversation with the short red-headed girl that was being served. His colleague from last night wasn't working, but instead was another male with dark brown hair and emerald green eyes I knew all too well. Eren fucking Jaeger, what a surprise. Luckily, his short-ass, crazy boyfriend wasn't here. Seriously, Levi was lethal. If you even set a hand on Eren, he'd chop your fucking hand off. He's not joking when he says that he would kill everyone who lay a single hand on his boyfriend. Once I merely glared at the boy, and the next day was awoken by a harsh warning from Levi by phone call, saying that if I even glared at Eren that way again, he'd chop my dick off with an axe and feed it to his chihuahua. His chihuahua was exactly like Levi himself; small, but vicious. I think the only friend of Eren's to ever stand up to Levi was the lovely Mikasa. In college, she was extremely overprotective of him, and even acted like his mother in some ways, making him tell her where he was or where he was going, constantly calling and texting him, and sometimes even followed him places. I used to be so fucking jealous of him; Mikasa would never obsess over me the way she obsessed over Eren. She probably even had an Eren shrine in her room. God knows Sasha would allow it. Fortunately, she got over her obsession with her adoptive brother when she met Annie, a terrifying blonde who, much like Levi, could kick your face in if she absolutely wanted to. I've met Annie maybe that of five times, and each time she's been just as threatening and petrifying as the last. She seemed to hit it off with Bertl and Reiner, though. The three constantly text back and forth, despite two of them living in the same house, and a meetup between them all extremely easy to organize seeing as they all live in New Jersey.

 

As I edged ever closer to the front of the line, I found myself smiling slightly to myself and blushing. _Blushing_. Why? Well, I certainly didn't have a fucking clue. It wasn't because of Marco. Definitely not. He vexed me, with his stupidly perfect black hair parted in the middle, and his irritatingly beautiful gentle coffee-coloured eyes. His politeness was just downright irritating, and his voice as smooth as honey was exceedingly maddening.

 

“Hello! How may I help you today?” A cheerful voice suddenly came from before me, and I looked up to be met with those beauteous light-brown eyes I had deemed irritating moments before. My blush continued to spread.

 

“Just a coffee, thanks.” I replied, my voice unusually nervous and small.

 

“What was that?” Marco asked as he obviously had not heard what I ordered, thanks to my fucking voice. I don't know why it came out that way, I really really do not.

 

I coughed. “A coffee, please. Black.” My voice now seemed over-confident and extremely douchey, and that was confirmed because Eren decided to turn around, hearing the familiar douchey voice he was so used to hearing.

 

“Horseface!” He greeted. How polite.

 

“Jaeger.” I muttered in response. Eren wasn't exactly my favourite person, forever annoying the hell out of me and making fun of my apparent “horse face” whenever he could.

 

“Eren, make one black coffee please.” Marco instructed him courteously, offering him one of his charming smiles that irked me so. Although I found it annoying how cheery he was, the amount of happiness he possessed was quite admirable. If only I was as gleeful as him. But what was going on in my life to make me happy? My career was non-existent, I was mundane, uninspired and I lived in a tiny, shitty apartment in the middle of New Jersey with two of my best friends who fucked loudly regularly.

 

“I'm still sorry, you know.” Marco said. He must've remembered me, then. “Can't I give you this one on the house?”  


I shook my head. He was not going to pay for some meaningless coffee that he accidentally made me drop. Though it was mostly his fault and I was practically broke and unemployed, I didn't need a free coffee. Marco sighed heavily, turning to Eren and whispering something.

 

I waited for a short while, looking around the shop again. It wasn't too busy; on every other table sat at least one person, those with others talking in a hushed tone as they carefully sipped their drinks. There were some hopeless sixteen-year-old “hipster” girls sat in a crowded corner, looking over at me, giggling and blushing whenever I looked back at them.

 

“I think those girls have a cru-ush!” Freckles carolled quietly. I sighed, running a hand through my two-toned hair.

 

“Unfortunately.” I preferred people my own age, to be honest. “Hormonal, teenage, wannabe hipster girls are most definitely not my type.”

 

Marco chuckled quietly. “I got them in here asking if I was single earlier. One also tried flirting with Eren, but that was about the time when his boyfriend was just leaving the shop. I think she ran off to the bathroom and cried after Levi had some harsh words with her.”

 

“I can see why. He's _terrifying_. He's like his fucking chihuahua.”

 

“Levi owns a chihuahua?” Marco asked, slightly surprised. I nodded. It surprised me too, really. When, for some odd reason, we had conversations about dogs, Levi was always the one to say that he wanted a big dog – like a Doberman or something. Though, it'd probably be bigger than him. Everyone was surprised when Eren had posted a picture to Facebook where we got one of Levi's extremely rare smiles as they held a tiny chihuahua puppy together. We didn't even know they were getting a fucking dog.

 

“Technically it's half Eren's, too. It fucking hates me, man.”

 

That was not a lie. Once, after Levi and Eren had gotten their dog (Princess was its name – fucking _Princess_ ), Sasha and Connie had dragged me along to go and visit them, and she just stood in front of me and barked. She growled whenever I attempted to stroke her, and even when I ignored her she yapped loudly, irking me to the extent that I was actually about to lock myself in the bathroom for the remainder of the night. Of course, the dog absolutely adored Connie and Sasha. She adored every one of Eren and Levi's friends that she'd met, except me. She even liked Reiner, who cowers away from any kind of dog he sees. He's terrified of them.

 

“Princess doesn't hate you. She just strongly dislikes you.” Eren butted in as he placed a take-out mug on the counter.

 

“Princess?” The freckled man was trying to stifle his laughter, probably thinking about Eren or Levi calling the dog's name at a park or something. Eren shrugged.

 

“I'm drinking in,” I stated, confused as to why I had been given a take-out cup.

 

“We really need all our china.” Marco winked at me playfully, the annoyingly gorgeous smile set upon his lips once again. I rolled my eyes. Forgetting to pay, I set about my way on finding a table, hopefully away from those teenage girls who were staring at me earlier. I'd rather not hear teenage girls giggling ridiculously loud and gush about someone they'd only seen once. Luckily there was a table far away from them.

 

When I sat down, I found myself looking back at the counter again, like I had the night before. Only then did I realise how flawless the barista actually was. Freckles dusted his slightly tan skin; his eyes constantly sparkled as if he were excited about something. His hair was somewhat messy, yet it looked perfectly neat. He stood tall, and his voice was always soft. He was undeniably attractive, and also possessed a kind nature which honestly made him all the more desirable. No homo, of course.

 

Not even a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched Insidious for the first time and I swear I'm scared of everything now. On the plus side, I got out of hell today which means I can actually update this story frequently instead of posting this and maybe another chapter, before abandoning it for a month. Whoop.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which hormonal, sixteen-year-old girls attempt to hit on Jean and Marco swoops in and becomes his knight in shining armour.

Staring at Marco for some time certainly wasn't on my list of “to-dos”. However, _he_ was.

 

Wait, no. He's just the asshole who made me spill my coffee. He wasn't that attractive. Well, not to an extent that I'd actually admit it to myself. Marco, the cheerful, freckled barista, certainly would not become my new obsession. If anything, Mikasa would.

 

The lovely Mikasa, with her luscious, shiny, black hair, porcelain skin and that red scarf she never seemed to take off. If only she wasn't with Annie, I'd probably be dating her. I didn't like Marco, no fucking way. I didn't like his freckles, nor his fawn eyes, and I strongly disliked his soft voice. I especially abhorred how his cheeks always seemed to be tinted slightly with pink. I loathed him in general, really. I think.

 

Maybe he was attractive; maybe I was just trying to find ways of hating him because I think he's just the asshole who made me spill my coffee. Even if I did think of him as _handsome_ , it's not like I would choose to do anything about it. My feelings of attraction would probably wear away in time. It's probably just that I've not dated anyone in such a long time, so I'm thinking that Marco is alluring. I should probably ask Sasha to set me up with someone – she knows a lot of people who might be willing to date me. Normally, I would go to Connie to set me up with someone. But never again after last time. It was a while ago, perhaps two years, and I went to Connie to see if he could set me up with a pretty girl. He managed to find someone who was actually prepared to give me a chance, and that was rather remarkable, considering how Connie must've described me. The girl who he set me up with, Mina, was gorgeous. Her long, thick, black hair was always gathered in two loose bunches that cascaded down her neck and shoulders, and her grey eyes sparkled. She was intelligent, had a fantastic figure and was cute. She was funny and cheerful, too. Personally, I think she could've been “the one” if she wasn't so _fucking insane_. She was obsessed; way too clingy. Mina called me twenty-four times a day while we dated (and even for some weeks after we broke up), and, once, I even found her sitting in at the end of my fucking bed when I woke up. I don't even know how she got in, or how she knew where I lived for that matter (we had always gone to her place, so we wouldn't disturb Reiner and Bertholdt in their own fuckings). I inevitably broke it off, but she would not go away. I ended up having to stay at Sasha's for a while. Thankfully, She eventually got bored and fucked off somewhere, and luckily I haven't seen her since.

 

I wasn't prepared to let Connie choose my girlfriend ever again, so I made a mental note to ask Sasha later.

 

Slowly lifting the flimsy cup to my mouth, I took a sip of the almost disgustingly bitter liquid, grimacing slightly as the unsweetened coffee burnt my tongue. Fucking Jaeger probably made it that hot on purpose. I carefully set the cup down on the table (I really didn't want, nor need, a repeat of last night; one of my hoodies smelling strongly of coffee is enough, thanks), glancing around the room quickly for no particular reason. I felt eyes on me, and that was rather unnerving, as I was pretty damn sure it wasn't Eren or Marco, though I wouldn't particularly mind if the freckled barista was the one staring at me. Just to be sure, I peered over to the counter. The two men were busy with a customer and were not staring at me, just as I thought. However, I soon remembered the teenage girls from earlier, who had apparently hit on Eren and Marco, and one of whom (the one hitting on Eren) had recieved a stern warning from Levi and scuttled off to the ladies restroom and cried. I looked over my shoulder at the girls, and could immediately tell who hit on Eren. Her hair was slightly messy, as if she had brushed it quickly and inefficiently, using her long, manicured fingers as a temporary hairbrush, and her overdone make-up was smudged beneath her eyes, and her face was still very faintly blotched and her eyes still somewhat red.

 

The group of girls were giggling annoyingly, blushing as they noticed that I had looked over. I rolled my eyes. Hormonal, adolescent, puerile girls were definitely not my type. Suddenly, one of them, a tall, blonde one with striking green eyes, a confident stance and an extremely tight top that surely wasn't good for her absent boobs, stood up and began to walk “seductively” over to me. As she neared my table, I began to panic. I didn't fucking want a slutty teenager ruining my coffee. I wanted to sit in peace, and possibly stare at Marco for a short while longer for a reason that was unknown to me. “Hey,” the girl said, disgustingly pushing her exceptionally small, almost non-existent, breasts out at me.

 

“Hello?” The words came out of my mouth as more of a question than a slightly awkward greeting.

 

“So, is anyone sitting here?” She bit her lip, but it kind of looked like she was gnawing at it than how it was supposed to look; alluring and sexy. I wanted to fucking scream, _“Yes! Now, fuck off and please, oh fucking please, wear looser clothes.”_ Unfortunately, nobody was, because I normally wanted to be alone when I had coffees, unless I had the chance to be with someone I really liked. I did not like this girl one bit. 

 

“No, but I don't-” The adolescent didn't give me a chance to finish my sentence before she spoke cheerily again. 

 

“Great!” 

 

The chair scraped loudly against the wooden floor as she pulled it out, winning the attention of both baristas who were currently not serving anyone. I looked at them in a way that said, “dear fucking lord help me”, and, for some reasons, Eren's eyes went brighter than they were usually. He whispered something to Marco, before the taller man shook his head rapidly, blushing ferociously, a smile still set upon his pink lips. 

 

“I'm sorry, aren't you in, like, high school?” I directed my attention back to the chippy young girl who sat across from me as I spoke.

 

“Well, yeah,” she replied a little sheepishly, as if she actually thought that I believed she was around my age. “But I've always liked older men.” Her voice was now lower, in a supposedly “seductive” whisper.

 

Suddenly, a tall, masculine figure put his hands on my shoulders. “Hello, boyfriend.” I looked up to be greeted with the coffee-coloured eyes that mesmerised me so. I shot Marco a confused look, and he replied with one that said “trust me”. For some reason, I actually did.

 

I was pretty sure I was blushing like crazy right now; I mean, an extremely hot, freckled barista just came up and called me his boyfriend and fuck, I certainly wouldn't be opposed to him calling me his boyfriend for real.

 

“ _Boyfriend?_ ” The teenage girl was looking at Marco with a look full of pure hatred and venom. Still, he continued to look at her with kind eyes and a soft smile. She scoffed, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “I don't buy it.”

 

“Why not?” Marco sat on the uncomfortable arm rest of my chair, and I didn't understand how I didn't hurt his ass.

 

“You guys just don't _seem_ like a couple. If anything, you'd be friends and nothing more.”  
  


Marco's smile never left his face once. “Really?”

 

The teenager nodded, a devilish smile resting upon her lipstick-covered lips. “Come on, you expect me to believe that fucking bullshit that you're boyfriends? Are you _stupid_?”

 

Well, she was certainly rude.

 

“Excuse me, but this isn't bullshit or whatever,” I replied, gesturing between me and the man sat on the armrest, though it was. I finally got what Freckles was doing. He was going to pretend to be my boyfriend so that the girl would hopefully leave me alone. How kind. Unfortunately, it wasn't working, because she was _still_ fucking there, sitting across from me. Only then did I actually notice that Marco's muscular arm was snaked around my shoulders. Marco's freckles weren't just on his face, I noticed. I wonder if he has any on his-

 

“Then kiss.” She looked smug, as if she thought she had finally beaten us. My eyes widened to the size of saucers, I'm sure, and I was blushing furiously. Marco also looked slightly shocked, and nervous, but the same, happy smile still rested in its same place. He turned his head towards me and I noticed that he was blushing again.

 

“I'll be glad.” His voice was quieter, but somehow softer.

 

He quickly leant in, pecking me on the lips for a mere split-second. In that tiny split-second, he somehow managed to make me go dizzy, make butterflies erupt in my stomach and make my already extremely prominent blush even more noticeable. It was a fucking peck to make a girl go away; I'm pretty sure I didn't even like him like that. I think.

 

Fuck, if I'm starting to get a crush on him, I really am lonely. I need to get a date really fucking soon.

 

“Are you satisfied now?” I surprisingly managed to choke out. She huffed and stomped away, back to her group of friends who sat gob-smacked, apart from two girls who were laughing their heads off. I liked them the best already.

 

“Uh, thanks.” I said awkwardly once she left.

 

“No problem.” Marco avoided eye-contact, standing up and smiling shyly, a blush still staining his speckled cheeks. He walked away and back to the counter where Eren was trying to stifle his giggles. I bet that that was all his fucking plan, wasn't it. Fucking Jaeger.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean asks Sasha to set him up with someone. Also, everyone becomes interested in the "find Jean Kirschtein the love of his life" cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point in this chapter, the POV will change to Sasha. I will put starts or some shit so you know when!

It proved somewhat difficult to talk to Marco the week following, and my once intelligent words came out mere mumbles and incoherent stutters. My blush became even more wild and absolutely uncontrollable.

 

I discovered that Eren, unfortunately, works the same daytimes as Marco. That means I have to put up with him almost everyday, every time ruining my chances at a pleasant conversation with the freckled man who I totally don't have a steadily growing obsession with.

 

Something that is also very unfortunate is that Levi now visits the coffee shop often, just to see his annoying boyfriend. Eren and Levi always greet each other in the same way, too. Every time it's, _“What would you like to order, my gorgeously pretentious ass?”_ followed by, _“The same as usual, my delightfully exasperating brat.”_ The two were disgustingly cute.

 

After having one of my daily coffees (and totally not staring at Marco as he worked), I decided to go to Sasha's, because I hadn't seen her since my obsession with the freckled barista started to grow, and, in all honesty, I fucking missed her (although it had only been about a week). This was probably as long as I had gone without seeing her, as she was normally always with Connie. I'd seen Connie a couple of times, and, unfortunately, I'd seen and _heard_ Reiner and Bertholdt more times than enough. People think I'd get used to it, considering I'd lived with Reiner since the start college and he used to have Bertholdt over almost every night, and if not that, every night, but I still wasn't used to hearing Bertl scream, “Fuck me!” everyday. When I first heard him, I was extremely surprised, because normally Bertholdt was quiet and somewhat shy. But during sex, he _never_ held back.

 

The trek to Sasha's was as uneventful as ever, only almost getting run over twice. New record. Once I almost got run over _ten fucking times._ Of course I've learnt about shit like road safety, but crossing the busy roads on the way to Sasha's is like a fucking suicide mission. On her road alone you almost get run over about five times, let alone on other, even _busier_ roads. When I finally got to her apartment building (which was considerably better than the one I lived in; at twenty-five, Sasha was far more successful than many other people – she was head chef in some fancy restaurant – and therefore had more money), I pressed the buzzer thing, praying that she was in. I did not traipse all the way over here and almost die twice to head back to my apartment building and almost die on the way back again.

 

Luckily, her perky voice came through. “Hello?”

 

“Hey, Sash.” I replied.

 

“Jean! Come on up!”

 

I managed to climb the stairs relatively quickly and find Sasha's apartment, knocking on the door before the woman's arms flew around me. “Jeanbo!” she exclaimed, excited. An “interesting” smell was coming from her kitchen, presumably one of her many quirky new recipes. Not only would she eat anything, but she also created bizarre combinations herself. Of course, she could never use them at the restaurant, which was unfortunate, because they were usually actually really delicious. Except for that one time, that was fucking _disgusting_. It even made Eren throw up. After that, everyone was slightly weary of what recipes Sasha created. Yet we still eat them.

 

“Is Jean there?” came another female voice from inside, and walking it it was revealed that it was Ymir sat in the large living room on a plush couch, her slender arm resting around Historia's shoulders. For some reason, Ymir reminded me of someone, put I couldn't quite figure out who.

 

Like always, her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her freckled face showed no trace of make-up. Historia's hair was also styled as it was normally, and little make-up covered her face. She was naturally beautiful, and didn't need to put on foundation or cover her bright blue eyes in thick, black eyeliner. Reiner always said that if he didn't like dick he would totally go for her. Though, I'm not sure Ymir would let him. I think Ymir would rather die than let anyone touch Historia.

 

“Jean!” Ymir made no effort to stand up, obviously comfortable with her girlfriend. Historia, however, stood up and trapped me in a hug, much to Ymir's distaste. Ever since we first met Historia has always greeted me with a hug. I'm not quite sure why. It would just seem odd not to now. Sasha was quick to join us in the middle of her living room, throwing her arms around us both and tightly holding us. Even as we struggled she refused to let go, until Ymir couldn't bear containing her jealousy and taking back her girlfriend, glaring at both of us.

 

I sat down on the other couch (that's right; Sasha had enough money to afford two – leather ones at that, and luckily they weren't covered in cum stains and other mysterious substances), facing the two girls who were now back as they were before. “What brings you here, Kirschtein?” Ymir asked, her arm securely placed around Historia's slim body again. Sasha was perched next to me, barely leaving any space between us, a wide, excited smile resting upon her lips.

 

“I actually wanted to ask Sasha if she could, uh, set me up with someone?” Halfway through my sentence, Sasha's grin widened, almost splitting her face in two.

 

“I'd _love_ to!”

 

Fortunately, Sasha seemed to be willing to do it. She seemed excited, too; which wasn't rare.

 

“Why did you not ask Connie?” Ymir asked. I told her about my unfortunate experience with my girlfriend last time, and how I'd never trust Connie with my relationships again. By the end, my freckled friend couldn't contain her laughter, while her girlfriend looked slightly more sympathetic. Sasha was laughing along with Ymir – what great friends I had.

 

After a short while, Sasha ushered me out of her home, excited and determined to find someone for me.

 

With a quick, “Bye, Jeanbo!” she slammed the door in my face and left me to wander back home, where my roommates were probably busy.

 

***SASHA'S POV***

 

I rushed back into my living room where Ymir and Historia had been sat for the past three hours.

 

I grabbed my phone and pulled it out my pocket, collapsing on the other seat. Eager to get the search for Jean's true love on the road, I rapidly clicked on my contacts and scrolled through them. I groaned; none of them would even _consider_ dating Jean. “What's up?” Historia asked, who, until now, had been quietly talking to Ymir.

 

“Nobody will be willing to date Jean.” I replied, throwing my phone beside me in defeat.

 

Truthfully, I thought it'd be easier and quicker (though it had only been ten minutes) to find someone for Jean.

 

“It's been ten minutes, Sasha,” Ymir said, “Of course you won't have found anyone yet.”

 

“Why don't you just ask other people? Someone will be bound to help find someone.”

 

Gasping loudly, I had a fantastic idea. Maybe I could ask everyone for help and set up a huge ass group chat or something.

 

_**New chat: FIND JEAN KIRSCHTEIN THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE** _

 

_**Me: HELLO CHILDREN** _

 

_**Ymir: WE'RE IN THE SAME FUCKING ROOM** _

 

_**Historia: Ymir, play nice!** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: Why are we finding jean's “love of his life”** _

 

_**Me: because he asKed** _

 

_**Aang (C-dog) : NONONO LAST TIME I SET HIM UP W/ THIS CRAZY GIRLFRIEND** _

 

_**Ymir: HE TOLD US AND I COULDN'T STOP LAUGHING** _

 

_**Aang (C-dog): Oh my god** _

 

_**Historia: You're so mean smh** _

 

_**Ymir: But you love it ;)** _

 

_**Short, angry, chihuahua man: Why though** _

 

_**Me: he's lonely? I don't know** _

 

_**Reiner: HE'S NOT HAD SEX IN LIKE TWO YEARS** _

 

_**Me: OH MY FUCKING GOD SERIOUSLY** _

 

_**Ymir: DDUDE** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: OH MY GOD** _

 

_**Short, angry, chihuahua man: That's a really long fucking time** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: REINER NO** _

 

_**Aang (C-dog): WOWOWOWOW** _

 

_**Me: anYwAY,,** _

 

_**Me: wait where's annie** _

 

_**Nose queen: I'm right here** _

_**Me: SO WE CAN GET STARTED GREAT!** _

 

_**Me: does anyone have any suggestions to who we could set our horse up w/ ?** _

 

_**Ymir: Does he have any preferences? Girls? Boys?** _

 

_**Me: I actually don't know** _

 

_**Me: either should be fine I think ??** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: I remember once he commented on some guy's ass saying that it was, “totally bangable”** _

 

_**Reiner: Like you ;)  
** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: FFUCK** _

 

_**Historia: Please keep those conversations away from us thanks** _

 

_**Reiner: ALSO HE'S BEEN SAYING THIS GUY'S NAME IN HIS DREAMS LOADS** _

 

_**Me: OooOoOoOoOoO** _

 

_**Aang (C-dog): IS OUR JEANBO A HOMO** _

 

_**Ymir: I fuckin' hope so** _

 

_**Ymir: Most of us are gay as FuCK** _

 

_**Nose queen: WAIT WHERE'S MIKASA AND ARMIN** _

 

_**Me: OH NO I FORGOT TO ADD THEM** _

 

_**Aang (C-dog): SASH A** _

 

_**Nose queen: hhHhh** _

 

_**Nose queen added MikASSa and Legout to the chat** _

 

_**MikASSa: hello?** _

 

_**Legout: hello,, it's me** _

 

_**Historia: NOBODY HAS ACTUALLY SAID THAT UNTIL THEN WHY** _

 

_**Legout: I FEEL SPECIAL** _

 

_**MikASSa: WAIT WE'RE FINDING JEAN THE LOAF OF HIS LIFE IM SO FUCKING READY** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: loaf** _

 

_**Reiner: OH MY GOD** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: Levi, I just wanna say that I loaf you** _

 

_**Short, angry, chihuahua man: I loaf you too, my delightfully exasperating brat** _

 

_**Reiner: BERTL YOU'RE THE LOAF OF MY LIFE** _

 

_**MikASSa: ohmygodstOP** _

 

_**MikASSa: IM NOT GOOD AT TYPINF** _

 

_**Me: HONESTLY I LOAF YOU GUYS SO MUCH** _

 

_**Ymir: LOAF YOU TOO, BUT NOT AS MUCH AS I LOAF HISTORIA** _

 

_**Historia: Loaf you!** _

 

_**Nose queen: It's okay Mika, I still loaf you, although you have an inability to type correctly** _

 

_**Legout: OKAY STOP NOW MIKASA'S TYPING INABILITY HAS BEEN DRAINED OF IT'S HILARIOUSNESS** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: But has it actually?** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: Also you're the loaf of my life too, Reiner** _

 

_**MikASSa: YES NOW PLS STOP** _

 

_**Me: Okay okay** _

 

_**Me: LET THE SEARCH FOR JEAN'S LOAF OF HIS LIFE COMMENCE** _

 

_**Me: suggestions?  
** _

 

_**Reiner: OKAY WHAT ABOUT** _

 

_**Reiner: THOMAS WAGNER** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: Depends, what does he look like?** _

 

_**Reiner: Blonde, brown eyes, sideburns** _

 

_**Me: NO** _

 

_**Ymir: NO** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: HAHAHAHA NOPE** _

 

_**Historia: NO THANKS** _

 

_**Short, angry, chihuahua man: WHAT THE FUCK NO** _

_**Jaeger bomb: FUCKING NO** _

 

_**MikASSa: Maybe?** _

 

_**Legout: NO** _

 

_**Nose queen: lmaNO** _

 

_**Reiner: I'm taking that as a no then** _

 

_**Aang (C-dog): I DIDN'T GET TO VOTE** _

 

_**Me: your vote wouldn't have made a difference ??** _

 

_**Aang (C-dog): True** _

 

_**Nose queen: Mina Carolina?**_

 

_**Aang (C-dog): hhahahahahahahahhahahahanope** _

 

_**Nose queen: Why not? She's cute, perky and cheerful** _

 

_**Me: Connie set Jean up with Mina before** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: I DIDN'T LIKE HER SHE MADE ME SWEAT WITH FEAR** _

 

_**Reiner: You're always sweating tho** _

 

_**Nose queen: true** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: you're our lil sweaty son** _

 

_**Short, angry, chihuahua man: when are you /not/ sweating** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: EREN IM OLDER AND TALLER THAN YOU HOW AM I YOUR SON** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: you just are** _

 

_**MikASSa: seriously thou why do you sweat so much** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: it's a conditioN** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: STD** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: sweating 'till death** _

 

_**Reiner: OH MY GOD** _

 

_**Me: BERTL HONEY** _

 

_**Nose queen: uH** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT OH GOD** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: I DON'T HAVE AN STD** _

 

_**Reiner: GUYS HE'S SWEATING EVEN MORE** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: WAIT I GOT A SUGGESTION FOR SOMEONE** _

 

_**Me: WHOWHOWHO** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: Do you remember Hannah from college?  
** _

 

_**Me: OHMYHOD SHE'D BE PERFECT** _

 

_**Me: SHE'S PRETTY, INTELLIGENT AND FUNNY** _

 

_**Nose queen: And engaged** _

 

_**Me: oh** _

 

_**Reiner: Did you guys not know? She's engaged to Franz** _

 

_**Aang (C-dog): DAMMIT FRANZ WAS GOING TO BE MY NEXT SUGGESTION** _

 

_**Short, angry, chihuahua man: How long is this going to take I want to cuddle w/ my brat** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: CANT WE JUST CUDDLE WHILE DOING THIS** _

 

_**Short, angry, chihuahua man: what if we do other things** _

 

_**Short, angry, chihuahua man: I mean, I wouldn't mind if we texted them while doing /that/, but they might be uncomfortable** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: OH** _

 

_**Reiner: Keepin' the romance alive** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: Shut up you're probably fucking bertholdt right now** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: I CAN GUARENTEE THAT WE ARE NOT HAVING SEX RIGHT NOW** _

 

_**Reiner: ;)))))))))** _

 

_**Me: DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY MORE SUGGESTIONS** _

 

_**Ymir: I have one??** _

 

_**Ymir: None of you have met him apart from Historia though** _

 

_**Ymir: I think** _

 

_**Ymir: He's my cousin** _

 

_**Ymir: And I think he's perfect for Jean** _

 

_**Me: TELL ME MORE TELL ME MORE** _

 

_**MikASSa: was it love at first sight?** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: TELL ME MORE TELL ME MORE** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: did she put up a fight?** _

 

_**Legout: TOOK HER BOWLING IN THE ARCADE** _

 

_**Reiner: WE WENT STROLLING, DRANK LEMONADE** _

 

_**Short, angry, chihuahua man: I DESPISE GREASE STOP** _

 

_**Historia: WHAT** _

 

_**Historia: HOW CAN YOU HATE GREASE** _

 

_**Ymir: HE HAS FRECKLES (like me ;) ), BLACK HAIR AND IS TALL** _

 

_**Ymir: NOT BERTHOLDT TALL BUT TALL** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: WAIT IS THAT MARCO** _

 

_**Ymir: YES ?? HOW DID YOU KNOW** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: I WORK W/ HIM** _

 

_**Historia: how nice !!** _

 

_**Historia: honestly though, Marco is so sweet and funny !** _

 

_**Jaeger bomb: JEAN ALREADY PRACTICALLY DROOLS OVER HIM** _

 

_**Me: THAT'S A GOOD SIGN** _

 

_**Reiner: MARCO IS AN ANGEL** _

 

_**Bertl Turtle: we've ran into him at our closest coffee shop and he's so nice** _

 

_**Me: ALRIGHT SO JEANMARCO IS A GO** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REALLY LIKED WRITING THAT TEXTING BIT WOWOWOW


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean has a fashion crisis and Bertholdt becomes his saviour. Also, he is pleasantly surprised when he arrives at his date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS BACK TO JEAN'S POV WHOOP

I was panicking. I was panicking so much that I had resorted to grabbing every single shirt from my wardrobe (and, in the process, accidentally ripping three) and throwing them on my unmade bed. Why? Well, luckily, Sasha, my beautiful and trustworthy friend Sasha, had somehow managed to get me a date, but it was in two fucking hours and I still hadn't got an outfit. This was my one chance, my one fucking chance, to get that fucking freckled barista out of my freaking head, otherwise I would probably ask him out myself. The kiss that had happened a couple of weeks prior was almost entirely forgotten, everything somewhat normal again.

 

Though, Jaeger has just been a pain in the ass more than usual. Seriously though, when is he _not_? These past few days he's been looking excitedly between Marco and I, and I have no idea why.

 

Grabbing the final shirt from my wardrobe, I threw it on my bed. No, that one wouldn't do either. The only thing I could do now was enlist the help of my horny roommates, Reiner and Bertholdt. I coolly walked from my room to the living area. If by “coolly walked” I meant “fucking ran flailing my arms in a desperate manner” then yes, that was absolutely what I was doing. The two were on the grubby couch watching TLC (presumably _“Say Yes to the Dress”_ ; it's their favourite show, and I don't really want to know why) silently, only the loud volume of the TV and faint breaths being heard. “Oh my god,” I said as I collapsed on the unoccupied end of the couch, “Help me.”

 

Reiner smirked. “Date, huh?” I nodded against the harsh, stained, uncomfortable fabric of the couch. Until then I hadn't really realised how uncomfortable this couch actually was.

 

“I can't find any fucking clothes to wear.”

 

“You have loads - is there really nothing?” Bertholdt said in a reasonably sympathetic voice. I nodded again. “If you want you could borrow one of my shirts,” I looked up instantly, “though they might be slightly big.”

 

“Thank the fucking lord for Bertholdt Hoover!” I cried as I flung my arms around him. It was awkward; I think that's the first time I've actually hugged him.

 

He got up and went to his bedroom, soon returning with a different variety of shirts. Honestly, Bertholdt was a motherfucking _saviour._ “I wasn't sure what colour was your favourite, so I just, uh, brought out all the different ones I have.”

 

He dropped them on the sofa as we both began to rummage through them. He held various ones up, and I shook my head.

 

Finally, we found it. The perfect shirt. A shit-eating grin made its way onto my face, my amber eyes lighting up. “Thank you!” I cried, before flinging my arms around Bertl awkwardly again. I leapt up from the floor and racing to my bedroom.

 

The shirt was a little baggy; that was expected, considering that it was Bertholdt's, and he's the tallest person I know. However, it actually looked _good_. Although it didn't really fit properly, it hung loosely off my body in all the right places, and made me even more good-looking than I already was.

 

Joking.

 

I kind of look like a horse.

 

But it did look pretty damn good.

As I admired my appearance in the small, dirty mirror, a loud voice suddenly came from the living room. “Jean! Get your fucker ass in my fucking car so we can go and get you yo' man!” Assuming that it was my burly roommate Reiner (it definitely would not have been Bertholdt; he would've timidly knocked on the door and raised his voice ever so slightly so that it would be coherent through the wooden door), I excitedly and quickly trekked to the front door where, sure enough, Bertholdt and Reiner were waiting for me. At first, I was a little confused, because Sasha was meant to pick me up, but then I realised she probably had to pick up my date.

 

“Ready?” That fucking smirk was still set upon the blonde's lips, as his taller boyfriend absent-mindedly fiddled with a set of keys between his slender fingers. He looked at me through his messy bangs and gave me a small smile. “That shirt looks great.”

 

I blushed and gracefully accepted the compliment with a “thank you”.

 

The trip in the car was as uneventful as it always is – just Reiner giving me some “advice”. Also, he told me that if Marco and I “decided to get out our wangerflangers” (by that point Bertholdt was trying to stifle his laughter but was failing miserably) we should take a cab back, and even if we didn't get out our “wangerflangers” (as Reiner would put it) I should get a cab back anyway. Reiner knew that I fucking hated cabs; I hated the way they smelt, their dirty seats, and usually the cab driver, too.

 

I was embarrassingly nervous by the time we arrived at the restaurant. My hands were shaking, I kept fiddling with my hair, and, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fucking keep still.

 

“We're here!” Reiner sand in an unusually high-pitched voice (for him, anyway), whipping his phone out his pocket and quickly typing something. I could faintly, very faintly, see Sasha, Ymir and Historia in the distance, stood beside them a tall, masculine figure. I shrugged, dismissing it as they probably set me up with some tall fitness girl.

 

My eyes widened in surprise as I felt the large hands of Reiner yank me from my seat (luckily I had undone the seatbelt before, thank god) and out into the cold night. Bertholdt was already over on the other side of the parking lot; his long, spider-like legs allowed him to have an alarmingly large stride.

 

Suddenly, the features on my date became a lot more prominent, and I could easily make out who the familiar face was. Stood under the lamplight, face still scattered with an abundance of freckles, was Marco. His hair looked somewhat neater, though only by a bit, and his warm brown eyes still twinkled. God, those eyes would forever be my favourite.

 

Looking at Ymir, I also instantaneously realised why she looked so familiar the other day – she had to be related to Marco in some way. “Hey, Kirschtein.” she greeted, a smirk, almost exactly alike to the one Reiner possessed earlier, plastered on her face.

 

I greeted Historia, the smallest of us all, with a hug as per usual, and stepped back before actually acknowledging Marco's presence. “Hey,” I said softly.

 

“Hey.”

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Sasha was looking at us excitedly, her eyes sparkling with great enthusiasm and a grin so big it could probably split her face in half plastered on her face. Reiner and Bertl looked like proud parents – well, Reiner at least, Bertholdt just looked how he normally did, really, but just with a ghost of a smile upon his lips.

Slowly, Marco moved timidly towards me, leaning down. I thought that he might kiss me for a seconds, and god knows I wouldn't actually hate that, because he did it before, but that was to get a hormonal teenage girl away and oh my _god_ he might actually kiss me.

 

Well, he did kiss me.

 

But not on the lips.

 

Soft, gentle lips were placed on my cheek in a short, sweet, tender kiss. A profuse blush crept up my neck and onto my cheeks, and I'm pretty damn sure I soon heard a camera shutter going off. I didn't have time to figure out who it was, though, as Marco soon suggested that we should go inside. I nodded, before we quickly made our way in.

 

The interior was just fucking _fancy_. I had no idea how I was going to pay for this shit, nor what fucking wine or something to order, or what the fuck this music was, or what the time was. Marco's smile grew as he took in the surroundings, as if he'd never been to a restaurant or something before. It was fucking adorable, though.

 

We made our way to a fancy wooden pedestal where a snobby-looking waiter was standing in a fancy suit holding a fancy pen and a fancy reservation book.

 

The one fucking word to describe everything here: _fancy_. Fancy chandeliers, fancy waiters, fancy tables, fancy windows; fancy _everything_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahahhahahahahahistartedthetextingauwhoops
> 
> also I have a tumblr now which is v cool (homotion if you're interested ;) )
> 
> the name is now, "He Can Walk Out Anytime", taken from the song By The Sea by Suede, because later on that song will be very relevant and, quite honestly, I fucking hated the name "Inspire". Whoops.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean discovers Marco acted as Troy in a school production of High School Musical.

One look at that fucking menu, and I was panicking even more. All the dishes sounded expensive as fuck and, quite frankly, I didn't really have a lot of money. You know, being an unemployed, uninspired, sex-deprived, tired, unhappy artist who could barely afford the split rent for a shitty apartment he owned with two horny as fuck roommates doesn't exactly pay well. I know, it's surprising, isn't it?

 

Anyway, I was just about ready to say, "lets get the fuck out of here and go grab a MacDonald's", Marco pleasantly surprised me and quickly became my dream man.

 

"It's a bit expensive, isn't it?"

 

I smiled nervously and nodded. It _was_ fucking expensive. Too fucking expensive. Honestly, I don't know why Sasha made reservations for me here. To try and impress Marco, I guess.

 

"Want to go somewhere else? Nothing on this menu really takes my fancy." He asked, closing the menu cased with red leather and smiling.

 

"Sure," I replied coolly, sliding my chair backwards (letting it emit a loud screech as it scraped across the floor, successfully gaining the attention of a few nearby diners, and also making Marco giggle) and standing up.

 

"Where do you want to go?" He asked.

 

I replied with a half-hearted shrug.

 

Noticing that my hands were a little sweaty (luckily not yet Bertholdt sweaty; man, that dude must be hydrated all the fucking time), I discreetly wiped my hands on my black skinny jeans.

 

Seriously though, when people say that Bert sweats literally all the time, they're really not lying. Sometimes I wish I could say that they were, though. Bertl doesn't really deserve to be getting called "that one really really sweaty guy" behind is back all the damn time, it's not exactly as if he can help it. I don't even get why people talk about him like that, anyway - how is it even possible to? It's like kicking a fucking puppy. It's also entirely impossible to hate Bert for more than a millisecond. Believe me, I've tried. I really, really have, but you just can't. You just take one look into those shy, green eyes behind his adorable black bangs and _bam_ \- he's forgiven. I swear even if he robbed a fucking bank, the police or whatever would just look in his eyes for a single second and they'd be like, "No worries, go home to your boyfriend!"

 

That, or he will use his insane baking skills to win your forgiveness. I've had my fair share of "I'm sorry I'm so loud during sex" apology cookies and cakes over the time I've been living with him. He's insanely good at cooking and shit like that (like Rin Okumura or something), whereas Reiner and I are both completely useless. The only thing I can make is my mother's omelette, and even that isn't half as good anything Bert can make. He's the official apartment cook. I tell you, Reiner is one damn lucky guy to have someone who can cook that well. I think Bertholdt might even be better than Sasha (and Sasha is pretty fucking great).

 

"So Jean, what do you do?" Marco's smooth voice snaps me out of my thoughts of the greatness that is Bertholdt's cooking. I quite like the way he says my name, really. He pronounces it correctly, and doesn't make it sound too harsh, like some people do. He pronounces it perfectly, like my French grandmother used to before she passed away.

 

But he's asked about my job. My currently non-existent job. What the fuck do I say?

 

"I don't, uh, work."

 

It takes me a few moments to realise that we're no longer inside the overpriced, high-class restaurant, instead strolling outside. It's still fucking freezing, and it kind of makes me wish that I actually owned a coat. I think my mother bought me one as a birthday or Christmas gift a year or so back, but  no longer own it, due to my stupidity and forgetfulness.

 

I, Jean Kirschtein, managed to leave my coat in a fucking cinema.

 

How does one do that, you ask? What, leave their nice, expensive, comfortable coat, their _only_ coat, in a cinema? To put it simply, I don't actually know.

 

I was holding it, fucking holding it, yet I still managed to abandon it in a horrifically dirty movie theater.

 

"Really?" He replied. Luckily, he didn't look that disappointed - in fact, he didn't look disappointed at all. A happy smile was still etched onto his freckled face, his eyes still bright.

 

I nodded sheepishly. "My dream was to become an artist, though. I majored in art in college."

 

"Why don't you look for a job in graphic design or something? Isn't that something you covered in the art curriculum?"

 

I shrugged in response. Graphic design wasn't really my thing. It was boring and dull, to say the least. I'd much rather be an actual artist, you know? I know graphic design pays well, and I was actually pretty damn good at it, but I'd rather do something I love rather than be stuck in an endless spiral of repeated work and boring-as-shit meetings with an uninteresting boss who drones on about nothing in particular every morning and extremely annoying co-workers who I can't stand and who natter on and on about their families all the time, which, truthfully, doesn't interest me and is really none of my fucking business.

 

"I didn't like it. So, what's your plan, unless you actually wanted to be a barista all your life?"

 

Marco chuckled softly. "An actor. Drama was my favourite subject back in school, and I usually got main parts in all the productions I took part in."

 

"Even the musicals?" I asked. For some reason, Marco doesn't strike me as the particularly "musical" type. He nodded enthusiastically, which surprises me.

 

"I loved the musicals especially! Apart from when my high school did High School Musical, man, that was just utterly humiliating. Acting as Troy Bolton didn't exactly boost my popularity."

 

Trying to stifle a laugh, I replied, "You were Troy Bolton?"

 

Imagining Marco singing something like "Get Your Head In The Game" or "Breaking Free" is just fucking hilarious, to be honest. Though, I probably wouldn't mind seeing him in a basketball uniform.

 

"It didn't help that I was just fucking terrible at basketball, and that I actually required skill in that field to be a good Troy. My abnormally large amount of freckles all over my body didn't help, either."

 

"I like your freckles, though. They're cute." I said, blushing as I smiled nervously and looked down towards the damp pavement.

 

"Thanks." Marco replied, blushing slightly.

 

"So, what else can you do? Except make an awesome cup of coffee and act?"

 

"Posso parlare italiano."

 

I think I may as well have died it was so hot.

 

And I think he said something to do with Italy.

 

"If you don't mind me saying, that was outrageously hot," I complimented, making his freckled cheeks flare up even more, "but what the _fuck_ did you say?" He chuckled softly before replying.

 

"I said that I could speak Italian."

 

Well, _that_ made him even more perfect than it already was.

 

Marco Bodt, a literal angel who can act, sing, speak Italian, is fucking hotter than Leonardo DiCaprio in _Romeo and Juliet_ or _Titanic_ or some shit.

 

One thing I never got though, was why Rose fucking _let Jack go_ after she fucking said _"I'll never let go, Jack."_

 

If you fucking say you're not going to let someone go, you don't fucking let them go. I wouldn't really care if he was dead, if Leonardo DiCaprio was latched onto my fucking hand, I wouldn't let go. 

 

Also, Rose probably could've fucking moved over a little bit to let Jack fit on the door thing she was on. He didn't have to fucking die.

 

"Jean?"

 

I looked over at the taller man to my side. Then I realised that I probably hadn't spoken in a short while, due to my thoughts on _Titanic_.

 

"Sorry, I was thinking about Titanic." I admitted, offering a small smile of embarrassment, my face flushing slightly. 

 

"Titanic? That movie with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet about the actual boat?" Marco said, a look of pure amusement on his face.

 

"You acted as Troy in a school production of High School Musical, shut up!"

 

"Those were darker times,"

 

The rest of the evening pretty much consisted of embarrassing stories from out childhood, including one Marco told me about when he went camping with his class and pissed in the tent ("It was dark and I was scared! Shut up!"), trying to find somewhere to eat which took our fancy and exchanging bad pickup lines (it'd started with when I told him about the time when I first met Mikasa and asked her out with an appalling pickup line. "I'm addicted to yes, and allergic to no. What's it gonna be?" I believe it was. Needless to say she shot me down. Luckily I wasn't actually allergic to the word "no".)  

 

 "Okay, what's your absolute worst pickup line that you've ever used?" Marco asked, quickly stealing a french fry (or a "salty potato snake" as he used to call them, which, oddly, is what Sasha likes to call them too) from my plate. I stole one from his in return. 

 

"Do you have a map? I just keep getting lost in your eyes." I replied, cringing slightly. 

 

I remember saying that line to Mikasa (strangely, most of the pickup lines I've said have been said to that girl) at a party. Luckily, I'd been drinking, so I was able to blame it on the alcohol. 

 

"That's horrific." Marco chuckled.

 

"Oh yeah, as if it was worse than your graveyard one!"

 

Marco's graveyard pickup line (that was supposedly his best one) was absolutely atrocious. It went something along the lines of, "My dick is dead and all the graveyards are full. Can I bury it in you?", but what surprised me the most was that he said he actually used it. Well, when he was fourteen, but Marco still used a fucking pickup line. 

 

 "Oh god, please don't bring that up again." Marco cringed, but smiled nonetheless.

 

"My dick's dead and all the graveyards are full. Can I bury it in you?"

 

"Honestly, I wouldn't actually mind that." Marco took a sip of his drink as I raised my eyebrows.

 

"Really? Is Marco, sweet, innocent, freckled, angel Marco, suggesting sex?" His face flushes, but, somehow, his smile grew.

 

"Maybe."

 

This fucking man is perfect.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be no smut because, as much as i enjoy reading it, i cant write it. whoops.


End file.
